Page 56 of Intrepid

The map opened to my neighborhood, and just like the results when I’d typed in Dane’s number, it didn’t provide an exact marker. I cleared the map and typed Ty and Detroit into the search engine, knowing the variety of results I’d end up with.

Sure enough, faces popped up on the screen, but none of them Ty’s. Tyler. Tyrone. Tyson. Nothing. None of the men staring back at me possessed those diamond cut eyes and stern brows that gave him a naturally broody look. The kind that told a girl to hang on to her friggin’ heart, because the dude was about to carve it out with a spade and eat it like a blood-hungry cannibal. No, based on the search results of balding forty-somethings and wanna-be gangstas, I’d have said I hit the jackpot with my Ty from Detroit.

My phone rattled against the desktop, and with a bit too much excitement, I snatched it up without bothering to see who’d called. “Hello?”

“Sera, it’s Jane.”

Shit. The tone in her voice told me my dad’s secretary wasn’t happy about the many messages I’d left in my attempt to find out what’d happened to Lilia’s monthly payment.

“Hey, Jane, I was just—”

“Your father has requested that I set up a meeting with you for this afternoon.”

A meeting? The last thing I wanted to do was meet with Karl Kutscher on a perfectly good Friday before a date.

“I have a class this afternoon.”

“What time?”

“One-thirty.” In two hours. No way my father would haul his ass anywhere within two hours. I found it surprising he’d attempt an afternoon appointment, when it typically required a week’s notice to score even an hour of his time.

“Good. You’re penciled in for noon. He asked that you meet him at Butchers. Would you like me to arrange a ride for you?”

Unbelievable. Unbelievable! “Jane, I just wanted to remind him of the payment he was supposed to send over for Lilia.” That’s all. No need to make it formal and miserable at the same time.

“I’m afraid your father has asked me not to make any other arrangements until he’s had the opportunity to meet with you.”

“Seriously? Is a meteor headed for earth, or something? What’s the occasion?”

“He’s not made me privy to the nature of your meeting, Sera. I’m sorry.” If ever artificial intelligence gained some traction, Jane could’ve acted as a prototype to model the software. The woman had zero personality, and even less empathy. No wonder my father had kept her for so long.

“Fine. Butchers. Noon.”

“Again, do you need me to set up a ride?” she asked again, with as little enthusiasm as the first time.

“No. I’ll walk, thanks.”

* * *

Butchers sat on the corner of Congress and Baubien, only a few blocks from my apartment. I didn’t dare imagine Karl had gone out of his way to choose a place convenient for me. On the contrary, I had a feeling he was in the neighborhood and wouldn’t have taken no for an answer, either way—a thought that set my nerves on edge as I made my way toward the restaurant. With ten minutes to go, I was pushing it, and my father loathed tardiness as much as he loathed charity, so our meeting was sure to be a bust.

I entered the newly renovated restaurant, finding him sat toward the back—away from every exit door in the building, which only added to the nervous rumbling in my gut. Rumbling not from hunger. No, the last thing I wanted was to fill that turbulent hollow in my stomach with something that could possibly make a second appearance, as edgy as I felt.

It wasn’t so much the meeting itself that had me jittery, as my refusal to leave without Lilia’s payments worked out.

At the approach of the host, I pointed to where my father sat and let him lead me toward the back of the restaurant. Pulling out my chair, the host waited for me to sit, my father’s eyes watching me like a predator all the while.

Karl’s suit was a gray Brooks Brothers, teamed with an unremarkable tie, set beneath an undefined jawline, and when he nodded, his chin got lost in all the extra skin that bunched at his collar. He’d never been an attractive man, and I was certain my mother hadn’t married him for his equally bland personality, either.

My guess? It’d been about the money. She’d always been a free-spirited type, with little means to finance her wanderlust.

His eyes raked over me, probably on a hunt for all my flaws, as usual, and landed on my hair. “Blue …” His lips twitched with disgust. “How very … eccentric.”

The urge to fluff it in front of him and smile tugged hard, but I kept my cool. Our meeting had a purpose, one I couldn’t afford screwing up over something as trivial as my blue hair.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering your lunch, since you’re strapped for time.” As if he had any clue what I liked. He hadn’t ordered the food for my enjoyment, or to cater to my schedule, but merely to shave as many minutes off our meeting as he could.

Didn’t bother me, as I had no interest in prolonging the encounter, either.